Stubborn Love
by blueink3
Summary: Emma returns from New York to face a broken family. Charming family feels.


_Stubborn Love_

Emma pulls Gold's loaned car up in front of the apartment building, shifts it into 'park,' and rests her head on the steering wheel.

It has been a long – _long_ – couple of days and she's finally at the one place she's been missing since she left it, but something leaden settles in the pit of her stomach and she can't move from her seat, despite the inviting warmth of the lamps framing the apartment's doorway.

"Are we home?" comes a sleepy voice from the back and Emma lifts her gaze to the rearview mirror to meet Henry's.

"Yeah, kid, we're home."

He smiles in a beautiful moment where he forgets that he's supposed to hate her, before realization settles in, the walls come up, and the relieved grin slips from his face. That leaden weight in Emma's stomach tightens and she grabs the handle and opens the door, because facing the pain that she knows fills the apartment is better than dealing with her own in this tiny car.

"Do you think Mr. Gold will be okay?" Henry asks as he slides out of the car and follows her up the walk.

"He'll be fine," she mutters distractedly.

"What about Grams?"

Emma stops, causing Henry to bump into her back. It's the first time she's heard that particular nickname slip from his mouth, and she briefly wonders if he's ever used it before. She wants to lie to him – _protect_ him – but that didn't work out too well for her the last time, so she goes with the truth.

"I don't know, Henry."

Sadness clouds the hope in his face and he nods, continuing to trudge up the walkway, leading her to the building. The urge to sprint up the stairs and the urge to run in the other direction are creating quite the war within her. She wants to help her mother, to be there for her, and yet she's terrified to see the strong woman she saw in the Enchanted Forest so defeated.

Before she knows it, the apartment door is in front of her and Henry is fitting his key in the lock. She waits in the entryway as the door swings back, holding her breath, afraid of what she might see, but all that's revealed is a semi-dark apartment and the suffocating weight of silence. Lots and lots of silence.

She frowns, taking a step in. She had expected crying, perhaps screaming, but not this. Henry hurries toward the couch, dropping his backpack along the way, and only then does Emma make out the form sitting slouched in the middle of it.

Her father.

He leans forward with his head in his hands, and doesn't even look up when they enter. It's a defeated posture, one she's never seen him in, and one she never hopes to see him in again.

Henry stops just in front of him and only then does David look up, offering a small smile through exhausted features.

"Hey, kid," he says.

But Henry doesn't respond. He merely toes off his shoes and settles on the left side of the couch, curling into a ball and placing his head in his grandfather's lap. David freezes for a second, visibly fighting off emotion, before he gently runs his fingers through Henry's hair. And Emma can't help but place her hand over her chest because the image of her father and her son literally steals the breath from her lungs.

Finally, David's eyes meet hers and she gasps. There's so much pain, so much helplessness. But it's not pain for himself; it's pain for his wife, who has been through so much already. He nods slightly in the direction of the bedroom and Emma knows where she can find her mother.

She'll go. In a moment, she'll go. Now, however, she has something else to do as she steps forward, shutting the door behind her and crosses to David, settling on his other side. It's a little awkward just sitting there, but finally, she gives in to the emotion bubbling up inside and rests her head on her father's shoulder as his other arm pulls her closer.

He smells of fabric softener and aftershave and she can't help but think it's one of the best smells in the world as she burrows further into the cotton of his shirt. She feels a light kiss being placed on her head and she watches as David's fingers continue to rhythmically run through Henry's hair.

Perhaps this is just what her father needed, she thinks, as she feels the tension ease from his shoulders. Perhaps it's just what she needed too, as the stress from the past few days leaves her limbs.

She's not sure how long they stay like that – three generations huddled on the couch – but eventually, she pulls away and glances at the bedroom. David catches her gaze and nods, knowing what she's thinking without her ever having to utter a word. It must be a father thing.

She stands, bending down once more to place a kiss on his head before her nerve deserts her. And she pulls away to find him staring at her with a slightly wondrous expression on his face, which draws a smile on hers. They're getting there. Slowly but surely.

She pats Henry's leg on her way to the bedroom, whose curtain she hesitantly draws back. There, she finds her mother in the same curled up position she's seen her in before, when Snow was still Mary Margaret and Emma was still an orphan.

Taking a cue from her son, Emma toes off her shoes and pads over to the bed, carefully sliding in behind her mother. Snow doesn't stir so Emma takes a chance and scoots closer. She strains to hear her mother's measured breaths to prove she's sleeping, but nothing comes. For a millisecond, she panics before rational thought takes over and she realizes Snow is holding her breath.

Because Emma has crawled into bed with her.

A large lump gets lodged in her throat and she swallows hard, but that lump won't budge. She hurts, Henry hurts, her mother hurts, and her father hurts because they all hurt, but maybe – just maybe, they can heal as one. Together.

Blinking back wetness she swears aren't tears, Emma scoots closer still, letting her arm drape across her mother's midsection as they share one pillow, and the breath leaves Snow's body in a _whoosh. _

Emma smiles and tucks her head in closer, and she counts it as a minor victory when she doesn't feel the need to bolt when her mother laces her fingers through hers.


End file.
